


A madness most discreet

by havisham



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Humor, Drunkenness, M/M, One of My Favorites, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In fair Tirion upon Túna, where we lay our scene, young Fingon must learn that if you want something, you must first ask for it. But asking, alas, isn't getting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Findekáno I

"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.  
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes  
. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears.  
What is it else? A madness most discreet,   
a choking gall and a preserving sweet."  
\- William Shakespeare

  
My jealousy followed Maitimo around. No, that was not right. It followed me around. It dogged me, it bit at my soul, it would not let me be. He was handsome, well spoken, had excellent taste in just about everything, was unfailingly kind to children, animals and all irritating persons. In short, he was perfect, a most princely character. I was jealous of Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanárion, who was the best of us. He was certainly aware of it. He must have been aware of it, as all eyes turned to him when he entered any room. He was the tallest of the grandsons of Finwë, and he parted the crowd with a graceful wave of his hand, and left behind dozens of sighing maids and admiring nobles, all eager for a morsel of his attention.

Not me, though. I retreated behind my brother and his new bride. They were far too involved with each other to care much for anything outside themselves. As such, they provided good cover for me to beat a hasty retreat from the ballroom. I might have been able to make it out of this stuffy ballroom, in to the cool serenity of the gardens... 

“Ah, Findekáno! There you are!” 

No, it was hopeless as ever. I turned around, resigned to yet another evening of meaningless pleasantries, but I brightened when I saw that my companion was not one of my brothers, or one of those irritatingly perfect sons of Fëanáro. (But, a sly voice whispered in my brain, only one was truly, irritatingly perfect, was he not?) No, it was but my cousin, the pleasant Angaráto, who was as close to me as a brother.

“And how fares you, good cousin?” I asked lightly.

"Well enough," said Angaráto, a shade glumly.

I inquired to his mood, but he shrugged helplessly. Woman trouble, no doubt; he was just the type for it. “Has she rejected you outright?” I guessed, taking a stab in the dark.

His face fell, but he shook his fair head. “She thinks I am too intemperate and hasty. And all because I said her brother was shameless wastrel and drain on her family's fortune.”

I made a noise that could have been a sympathetic sigh, but I suppose that my face showed all too clearly what I thought of Angaráto's propensity to always speak his mind, no matter the consequences.

“Do you think I spoke too artlessly, cousin?” His fair face twisted into lopsided frown. He had been drinking, and I felt a momentary irritation that I had not. I wondered if I could persuade him to share...

“Well, you speak with more matter and with less art. It's a quality that I, at least, can personally appreciate.” 

“Because you share it, perhaps?” asked a familiar voice, quite close. I nearly jumped out of my skin, for how did Maitimo find time to sneak up to us in this quiet corner of the hall? He had managed to shake off even his most ardent admirers. Oh, I didn't want this to happen, not at all. My eyes narrowed, and my teeth clenched. I couldn't help it. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to see it dim light of the hall. But he did. Never fault the senses of the sons of Fëanáro! Their physical senses, anyway – for he frowned and asked me earnestly what was wrong.

“Nothing is wrong,” I said, and that was true enough. Nothing was right, either. I noticed that Angaráto had slipped away, seeing his beloved in the crowd, no doubt. Inwardly, I cursed my cousin's little tin pot love affair, for he had left me at the tender mercies of Russandol, who looked at me with a solicitous eye. He was about to gallantly offer me help, though for what he did not yet know. Or rather, more likely, he sought to correct me in some way. It was natural impulse, for had he not long been my teacher and model in all things? 

“You've been acting very oddly towards me lately, Káno, and I wish to know why.”

Ah! This was too much! He was so arrogant! Assuming that my oddness was somehow caused by his wretched proximity! I seethed inside, wishing to deliver a quick, caustic blow that I had had seen his father wreak upon my own, countless times before. But alas, I was as hapless as my sire, and could only gape stupidly at my half-cousin, who politely ignored my gaping mouth. 

Finally, I managed to strangle out, “It's not anything to do with you, Russandol. I am, uh, uncomfortable at this ball. I am --” here I hesitated, for the truth was at the tip of my tongue, for I have always been completely truthful to him, my best friend and my closest kinsman...

“I am in love.” 

Maitimo's face, which only moments before had been filled with sympathy that bordered closely on smugness, fell immediately. “In love? With someone here?” he repeated, his voice edged with incredulity. 

That stung. 

“Yes! Do you think I am incapable of love?” I said, my hasty temper once again getting the better of me.

He frowned and said, “Don't be foolish! I am just surprised that you are in love now, after so many years as a carefree bachelor.”

“Hardly carefree,” I snapped, “I've been in love for a long time.” 

“Have you? You've never spoken of her to me.”

“Perhaps I thought you would not understand. Your affections seem to change on a weekly basis.” I winced at that remark, although, objectively, it was quite true. 

Maitimo said, with considerable equanimity, “You judge me too harshly. I have never acted in a rakish manner to anyone, no matter how hard the temptation.” 

“Hmpft,” was all I managed to say. All those lessons in rhetoric - utterly wasted! 

By now, Maitimo seemed quite recovered from his surprise, and he surveyed the room with unconcealed curiosity. “I would like to see what lady has captured your heart, cousin.” 

My eyes followed his, around the crowded ballroom. It was crowded, yes, but still there were ladies whose remarkable beauty set them apart. There was a languid dark-haired beauty elegantly exasperated with the many admirers who sought to ring her in. She was slouching against a pillar, her face a mask of dazed world-weariness. She was ennui at its most fashionable.

Across the room, there was a dramatically different, but no less beautiful, example of the female form. A tiny Telerin lady – a relative of my aunt Eärwen, no doubt – held court. She seemed to be cast in quicksilver, bright and dazzling. (But perhaps not as deadly as quicksilver; I hardly knew the lady, so I could not possibly judge.) Her laughter too, had a silvery cast to it, and reminded one of bells… Of cool bright days by the sea. I smiled at her, for it was difficult not to be touched by her vivacity.

And, last of all, there was a regal golden-haired lady of the Vanyar, who moved through the crowd with ease. She was not burdened with admirers, though she was possibly the fairest of all the ladies present. Perhaps they were overwhelmed by the lady's considerable dignity? I know I was. She reminded me very much of my grandmother, Indis. And, come to think of it, my cousin, Nerwen. 

Formidable, in a word.

“I'm sure they are all fine women, but none are handsome enough to tempt me,” I said, as haughtily as I could. And that was haughtily enough, although I have never perfected the great trick my brother Turukáno had, of lifting his proudly Noldorin nose skyward at at just the right moment. 

Maitimo rolled his eyes. “What paragon of beauty attracts you then?” he asked, a little wearily.

The idiot! Could he not guess? I confess, I took all of this with very bad grace. “She's not a paragon at all. She's actually very stupid and awfully vain. And to top it off, her family is quite unsuitable.”

Maitimo sighed, no doubt despairing of my lack of gallantry. “You must learn to be more gracious to those you claim to love,” he said in his special, extra chiding voice. It was one that he reserved for lessons given to little brothers who were acting particularly stupid.

“I do not make any claims at grace. I leave that to you,” I said. Oh stars, I may even have pouted. Anyhow, I must have gone too far, for Maitimo’s expression had changed from patient understanding to complete bewilderment. 

“Are you drunk?” He leaned close and my heart pounded against my chest; I was sure he could hear it and know. But he heard nothing, and instead fixed me with a sharply critical eye. I was overwrought, he said, and must be escorted home. I did not argue with him. He led me away, my arm slung over his shoulder. Ah, I confess now, I leaned on him heavily, for being close to him was a joy to me. Then, I thought only to give the fair semblance of my supposed drunkenness. I could hear muted comments of dismay as the party-goers saw Maitimo and I heading for the main doors.


	2. Findekáno II

My father's house was a noble pile, and terribly ostentatious. Well, it was fit for a prince of a craft-proud people, and thus hopelessly overdone. I loved every over-decorated bit of it. 

Night had fallen hours ago, and the hour grew very late - the silvery light of Telperion was waning at last. I leaned even closer to Maitimo, who again pretended not to notice. He did not need to knock on the main doors, for they were already open. I could see the anxious face of Arvarno, my father’s butler, peering out into the darkness. 

“Is my Lord Findekáno quite well?” he asked nervously. 

“Oh, he's well enough,” Maitimo assured him, “I just needed to put him to bed.” Arvarno took a few steps forward – but once again Maitimo held him off.

“I can handle it, good sir. It's not the first time I've had to deal with a kinsman besotted by drink.”

I was about to protest, to say that I wasn't drunk at all – but I thought better of it. After all, I was quite satisfied with clinging to Maitimo in an unseemly fashion for a while longer. In a voice set low -- presumably not to disturb me -- Arvarno said that he would see to our things. As Maitimo and I made our way to my chambers, I managed to yell out that he should bring up the best wine available in elvendom to my rooms, immediately. 

“Dearest cousin, you really are the most terrible brat,” Maitimo whispered in my ear. I shuddered, half delight and half unease. Why did he do this to me? Did he not know the effect he had on me? Or did he know, and do it deliberately, I thought as we finally barreled into my bedroom. 

I was dumped on my bed with very little ceremony. I struggled out my robes, now uncomfortably close and sweaty. I wondered if Maitimo would help me out – my hand seemed to be caught in my sleeve. But no help was forthcoming. He was quite absorbed with the pile of books I kept on my bedside table. He pulled one out and examined it.

“Isn't this one of mine...?” 

He flipped it open to the flyleaf. Sure enough, written in bold black tengwar, was his full name, taking more the half of the page. He closed it with a soft sigh. 

“You said you had lost it.”

“I had not finished it when you asked for it back,” I said, finally freeing myself from my damp robes. I kicked them to the floor and got up to find a nightshirt. 

“You ought pick that up, don't leave it for the servants,” he said absently, such brotherly advice surely second nature to him now. I made a noncommittal sound as I returned, freshened by a splash of water on my face. I kicked the robes underneath my bed, and guiltily looked around to see if he would protest further.   
But no, Maitimo was stretched on my bed, eyes closed, my - his - book perched on his chest. I was about to say call for some light--my lamp on the side table was inadequate for any kind of reading. It was spookily good timing then, that Arvarno should have knocked on the door. I hurried to open it, and ushered him in. The bottle of wine was deposited on my desk, and I instructed Arvarno to freshen the linens in the room next to mine – once Turukáno's – for Prince Nelyafinwë. He bowed and left quietly.

“I have often wondered if my father hired him for his extreme quietude, if that is the right word to use,” I observed to no one in particular. (It wasn't, of course.) Maitimo was silent, and with a stab of panic, I wondered if he had fallen asleep. He had not. He regarded me thoughtfully, and watched me as I poured out the wine. He accepted a glass, never taking his eyes off of me. We half-finished out the bottle in this way, neither daring to speak nor to break our staring contest. I was about to say how silly this was when he interrupted me. 

“Are you truly jealous of me?” he asked, looking then as sad as a child might, after hearing that his beloved dog had been run over by a cart. I swallowed loudly, and wondered how he could have known this unkind thing, this terrible canker on my soul. I had never spoken of it to anyone at all, and from the outside at least, our friendship was as it had ever had been. Carefully, I asked what he meant by that. He made an impatient gesture with his hand, and I could not help but smile. Always-diplomatic Maitimo, had lost his legendary patience at last. 

“Jealousy is an ugly emotion,” I started slowly, “And not one that anyone would be proud to admit to having. But it is a very human one, I think. It is common enough in everyone. I know I have felt jealousy for Turukáno’s easy relationship with our father, and of Findaráto's graciousness and popularity. I know that I shall never be as beloved among our people as he. But, you ask about yourself, I am... I ashamed of my feelings towards you, Maitimo.” 

I lapsed into silence. He filled my glass again. Will dull surprise, I saw that it was empty. I took another swig of the wine, and noted that it was indeed fine stuff, the finest wine in my father's cellar, in fact. It was the stuff my father brought out when he wished to impress someone. Certainly, it wasn't meant to be guzzled in the dark by the likes of us. 

How I savored the taste of it on my tongue. 

“Go on,” Maitimo said. 

And so I did. 

“I am jealous. I am incredibly jealous. Of everything. Absolutely everything. Of you. Of other people who are near you when I am not. People who you can speak to in a way that I cannot speak to you. I'm jealous of those fawning maids who fall over whenever you even look at them. Every one of which you could have, who could have you in a way that I cannot. I am jealous of every moment I am not with you, and every moment I do not think of you. The only thing I am not jealous of is your brothers. I have never been, because what I feel for you is not the feeling between brothers. Or between cousins, half-cousins, even. Such want does not come with those feelings. Such hunger –“ I broke there, my face flushed. I could not look at him, not then. 

“I know what I feel, and I know it is wrong. It is such a sin that our people have never even considered it and I am sinner. I cannot easily look upon the Shining Ones anymore, for I am sure they could see into my heart and read this terrible flaw. But I cannot change. I do not want to change.”

We sat in silence for a long while. I did not look at him, I looked anywhere but him. I noticed, idly, that my wine glass was broken – it was a delicate thing, part of a set that my mother had received on her last begetting day from my aunt Eärwen. It had been green sea-glass, made from the sands of Alqualondë. I had cracked it, having gripped it far too hard. Now there was cut on my left hand, already starting to bleed. Blast it. My mother would surely ask some difficult questions tomorrow. 

“Findekáno, look at me,” he said. And with great reluctance, I did. He did not look disgusted at my depravity. Nor did he look sympathetic and kind, ready to gently push his wayward young cousin to the path of righteousness. No. His handsome face looked troubled and sad. Ah, this did nothing at all to make him less attractive to me.

“So you love me, cousin? Is that your confession?” he said, his hands flexing slowly, experimentally. I nodded. He looked at me, eye to eye. My heart twisted within me, for his eyes had always held a special fascination for me. They held a flame – for was he not the son the Spirit of Fire himself? Oh, his gaze was less searing, perhaps, than that of Fëanáro's, but then again, perhaps it was more steadfast. And for me, it was far more beautiful.

 

He reached out his hand, and I stiffened, ready for – Eru knows what – a blow, a kiss, what? I got neither, as it turned out. He plucked out the golden twists from my hair, long forgotten and deeply tangled within it. I smiled a little, at those twists, for they were my only vanity – or so I would like to think. 

“You'll get marks on your face, if you sleep with these things,” he murmured, as he handed them back to me. As he did, he noticed the cut on my right hand. He shot me a look of mild reproof, before taking his tunic and ripping a strip of fabric from it. He ignored my weak protests, and tied a firm bandage around my hand. 

I watched him carefully, avidly, for have I not confessed this is what I wanted to do, more than anything? Memory was wonderful thing for the Eldar, and if nothing else, I wished to remember the time my fair cousin was in my bed, gently bandaging my wounds. If only I could forget that I had just embarrassingly confessed my love --- which, of course, would not be returned. How could it be? And yet there was little part of me that cried out against the unfairness of it. That little part desperately wanted a yes. That little part – oh but it was my heart, which wanted, no needed, some confirmation that as flawed as I was, as wrong as I was, I was not wholly alone in my wrongness. 

Maitimo, oh, dear Maitimo declared then that he loved me too. (Of course, I already knew that.) He paused and looked at me, a hunted expression in his eye.

“But I cannot say if that is the sort of love you seek from me...” 

I stifled a sigh, which earned me a sharp look from him. He continued, “I do not know if I could love you like that. Perhaps though – in the future – I don't know... I am so sorry.” He did look wretched, as if he was truly sorry for not giving me what I so ardently wish for. 

I could not help it. I burst out laughing. It was all too strange! I laughed longer than the situation warranted – perhaps the situation did not warrant laughing at all. Surely Maitimo expected anger from me. Or perhaps I should have shed a few tears and discreetly wiped them away. Like... Oh, like his girlfriends of the week! Shamefully, I giggled at that, and wondered if I resembled those stricken females at all. This earned me a strange look from Maitimo. 

“Forgive me, Neylo, forgive me!” I managed to wheeze out. “It's just too funny, it really is. You looked so stricken, so very sorry that you could not take me now and do a dozen unnatural acts with me until the morning!” My chuckles died after that, as I saw that he was getting up, surely intending to leave. 

“Will you not stay in Turvo's room? I promise not to compromise your virtue any further,” I said, a smirk curling up my mouth. 

He shook his head, and said with a considerable amount of regret, that he really ought to get back home. His father expected him at the forge early the next morning. My smirk, if anything, grew. I knew exactly how much he enjoyed his time at his father's forge. 

As he hunted for his other boot – which had been pushed under my bed – I leaned back, more comfortable than I had been for months now. At least everything was out in the open. He finally found his errant boots, and got up from the floor with a cry of triumph. He sat on my bed to put them on. (For the last time, I thought, not without a certain amount of regret.) 

* * *

“Nelyo?”  
“Hmm?”  
“We are still friends, are we not?”  
“Of course. It would more than a confession on your part that you want to bugger me silly for us to stop being friends. Or do you want me to bugger you silly?” He shot me a sly look. I buried my face into my pillow. 

He continued on. “Anyway, it's actually a bit of compliment.”  

“I am glad my unnatural passions have given your ego a boost.” My voice was still muffed by pillow.   
A snort. I could hear him moving about in my room. I set my pillow down to observe him.   
“Don't be difficult. Now, where is my cloak?”   
“On the wingback chair, no, there, pushed back a bit.” 

Maitimo paused by the door, and said, “Do you really think I'm vain?”  
I made a most un-princely sound.

“As vain as me, perhaps. Not as vain as Tyelkormo.”  
   
He grinned. Predictably, it was dazzling.  
   
“You are most unfair,” he said, very pleased.  
   
Then he left, and I was bereft again.

 

* * *

 

Later, when my ruined robes were found, and the smashed wine glass recovered, as well as the bottle of father's best wine found all drunk up – and all of these things linked back Maitimo's stay in my rooms at the dead of night, my parents' worst suspicions were roused. Dark hints were dropped about my poor choice in friends, and my father threatened to write a sternly worded letter to Fëanáro on the deleterious effect Maitimo had on my morals. It was never sent, I think. My father lost his nerve or perhaps he realized how that ridiculous letter would surely make us the laughingstock of the Fëanáro's dinner table.

In any case, the whole thing was a sort of irony that I do not like. 

Not one bit.


	3. Maitimo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weird little coda for _A Madness Most Discreet_. From Maedhros’, er, unique point of view.

“I have often wondered if my father hired him for his extreme quietude, if that is the right word to use,” he said, as the footsteps of the butler retreated into the darkness.

I got up, to stretch. “You know it isn’t. You just said it to annoy me.”

 

He hissed in mock-frustration, “Not everything I do is to garner your attention, you know.”

I laughed and he did too, because we both knew that this was not quite true. The whole night had a performance, put on by Findekáno for my especial benefit. What would he do now, I wondered. Confess his undying love for me? He wouldn’t -- surely not, such naked emotion would surely make him squirm in perfect discomfort!

 

And I couldn’t have that, could I?

 

So, of course, I was forced to go over to him, and pull him into bed and start to ply him with wine. It was only fair, after all.

 

I knew that if earnest talk came about, I would have to patiently listen to him and then do The Noble Thing, which would be to discourage all unnaturalness that was between us, as was right. Oh, but The Noble Thing was also the _dullest_ thing to do, and so I pulled Findekáno close.

 _To me, to me, oh come to me!_

 _  
_

His eyes were very bright. Oh my poor cousin, is this what you hoped for so long? If you had only said something before! I tugged at his nightshirt – a ridiculous garment, I told him so, in a quiet whisper, he ought to do what we did, and sleep with no clothes at all. What rebels you are, your family, he said, his hands quickly making short work of my robes. “No smallclothes?” he said, a smile playing on his lips.  “None and none,” I answered.

 

All this I must remember – the angle of his hips, the curve of his arms, the slope of his shoulders. The weight of his body against mine. The sweetness of his lips against mine.

 

I should not have been surprised that Findekáno should lapse into poetry at a crucial moment, as his hair lapped up on my chest. A breath, a sigh, and then:  “ _I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I did, till we loved? Were we not wean'd till then?_ ” There was a catch in his voice as he continued, “ _But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly_?” And there was a silence as his words reverberated though the chamber, the soft hiss of the _s_ , the hard _k_ digging into my thigh.

 

I had to stifle a groan, and said quietly that he ought be more careful with how he used such words or he would make me lose my head entirely.

He raised his head and gave me a level, thoughtful gaze. “I was right, then, about your extreme vanity,” he said, head cocked just so.

I blinked, less than pleased. “What do you mean?”

“Here you are, dreaming away about me – a Findekáno-shaped figment of your imagination, when I – that is to say, _he_ is out there, struggling to catch your attention.” 

It was true, of course. The Findekáno-shaped figment was almost worthy of the real thing. I opened my eyes, and accepted the glass of wine Findekáno offered me. I settled in, and listened to what he had to say.

 

* * *

The door closed behind me, firmly shutting out me out from Findekáno. I sighed, mingling intense relief and frightful dismay.

 _What a night!_

I should not be suprised that Findekáno should suprise me so.  I close my eyes now. I can remember the first time I had ever met my cousin, in the gardens of my grandfather's palace. I was a sullen adolescent then, very eager to leave behind all these wretched children, yelling, biting, and always,  _always_  needing my attention. I sought some peace in some deserted corner... And of course, I nearly tripped over a child, almost immediately.

“No! Stop!” a young voice cried out, as a small boy glared up at me.

With a sigh, I dropped on the soft grass, defeated.

“May I ask what you are doing?” I asked, not unreasonably, I thought.

“You may well ask, but I don't have to tell _you,_ ” he said shortly.

It was then I saw then that he was watching two stag-beetles battling it out, a fight to the death. I glanced down at him, this small dark boy, and said, “You must be Findekáno, Uncle Nolofinwë’s boy.” 

A reluctant nod.

After a short silence as we observed the battle, he turned to me and asked “Which one do you think will win?”

“The bigger one, of course,” I said.

He shook his head. “The smaller one is more determined.”

And sure enough, the smaller one lunged and flipped its rival over. Unnerved by this, I took the flailing beetle aside and put it on the ground. We watched as it scrabbled away. 

 

"You shouldn't have done that," I said in an unsteady voice.

“Why?” he asked, half-scornfully. “They would have fought anyway. I was only the audience."

 

But that was only the last time Findekáno had used his cleverness against me. As we grew up and as we grew closer to each other, I confess now that I had often wished that he would use that cleverness against me in an entirely different way. Against me. Over me. Under me. Surrounding me. Overwhelming me.

 

Oh, I was embarrassing myself now. It's good thing no that one is listening.

No matter. I have made a thorough mess of The Noble Thing, which made me believe that perhaps it was not the _right_ thing to do after all. Instead of delivering up a firm repudiation of what he proposed – we were too closely related, and after all we were both men... I have failed to make these arguments at all.

Instead giving him gentle guidance on how to correct his moral errors, I have led myself astray. After all, could we ever be normal elves? Can anyone in our family be truly normal? Passions run too hot within us, I think. (Perhaps my youngest uncle is the exception to this...) 

Would anything stop my relentless pursuit of anyone who wasn't Findekáno, and to stop his relentless pursuit of me and no one else? It was so manifestly _wrong_ , I couldn't do it. Not to him. So instead, I hedged my bets, retreated into vagueness and doubt.

I lied, outright.

I peppered my response with _I don't knows_ , _I'm sorrys_ , and most appallingly, with _maybes_. With the latter, of course, for me, there was a real possibility that in the future, I would relent. No, not just relent. I would capitulate, with joy. 

I turned and pressed my hand on the heavy polished wood of Findekáno's door. My hand found the knob.

A turn, a turn and then... Well, I could throw the door open, and declare that everything I had said had been only guilt-ridden rubbish, and crush my mouth against his and make him my own.

The Valar and our fathers be _damned_.

What did it matter, what did they matter? I knew that in my heart of hearts that only he and I mattered, truly, deeply, and we always would.

 

My book.

He still had my book.

 _He hadn’t finished._

I hadn’t either. 

 

I let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Fingon impossibly quotes from is John Donne’s The Good Morrow. It is a great poem to quote when giving a blowjob. If you can get your mouth around it, that is. (Sorry.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is wildly uncanonical. The reader should be warned for balls (the dancing kind), bitching (the princely kind) and snobbery (ditto). Disclaimer: Not mine. It's J.R.R. Tolkien's (and I doubt he'd approve, and for that I apologize.) Also, there are unattributed quotes from both William Shakespeare and Jane Austen in there.
> 
> Finally, thank you to the wonderful grey_gazania for the smashing beta job!


End file.
